Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6) (20 page)

I panted to bring the heat down, keeping my penis just an inch from her hungry mouth. “No. Wait. We need a safeword. We need—”

“Oh, screw it.” She dove in for the kill, swallowing my cock like it was a sword.

I knew I was a goner. I unbuckled my chaps to give myself more freedom. They fell to my knees as I just let her work her magic.

This time I was speechless. I threw my head back and allowed myself to be carried away by a vortex of passion. There was much more to that little woman at my feet than met the eye. Not only was she sassy, bold, a firecracker—she was an energetic cocksucker too. She suckled me right down to the root of my prick and back out again to tickle my slit with her tantalizing tongue. Each time she speared my cock down her throat I thought I’d come, and just in time she’d back off, laving the head lovingly with the flat of her tongue.

“Pippa—God, I—Pippa—
agh
!”

All at once I erupted inside her hot mouth. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over me, the delicious spasms in my groin forcing the ejaculate out, flowing over Pippa’s tonsils. I pumped that little woman full of jizz, and she seemed to be gulping every last drop. A plane roared overhead, shaking the walls of the room as it approached, then wailing off in a Doppler effect as it departed. I found myself panting so heavily I nearly hyperventilated, still draining into Pippa’s throat.

She detached with a loud smack. “Mm!” she declared. “You know, if you untie my hands, I could hold your big, beautiful cock. I could hold it up, and get underneath your balls, and—”

“Enough!” I said, back in command now. Sliding my hands through her underarms, I yanked her to her feet, tossing her back on the bed. She crossed her ankles as she leaned back on her bound hands, glancing coyly at me. “Now listen! We got to get one thing fucking straight.”

“I’m listening, master,” she said with a glint in her eye.

I stuffed my half-erect cock away, buckled up the giant silver buckle. “No more leaving town.”

“Aye aye.”

“And another. You’re staying with me at Lytton’s until this whole mess blows over.”

She suppressed a giggle. “Blows over.”

I frowned. It was hard to look dignified when adjusting chaps around your crotch. “It’ll be convenient for you anyway, being close to your bud and breakfast.”

She nodded. “Bud and breakfast.”

“And we have to agree.” Whipping out a jackknife from its holster around my waist, I sat on the bed next to her and cut her ties. “Never, under any circumstances, can any Boner know about your past. You being Flavia Brooks, the Joneses, none of that. You’re strictly Pippa Lofting from San Francisco, running from an abusive ex.”

“Oh, I agree,” she said wholeheartedly. Once her hand was freed, it went to the back of my neck, my Ezekiel tattoo. “Let me see the whole thing. I’ve never seen you without your shirt on.”

I obliged, tossing the muscle tank onto a pillow. Her fingers roamed the ink. “I might have to let a few Boners know about my past to make a show of trust. But your past? Never.”

“Can you tell me? Was Kightlinger sleeping with your wife?”

I snorted. “Why do people use such a silly euphemism? ‘Sleeping with.’ It sounds like they had a play date. Try
fucking
. Yes, I found out
after
I killed him that he’d been fucking my wife the whole time, a year maybe, and I hadn’t bought a clue. I had challenged him to a gunfight to protect her honor. I even gave each of us an equal chance, with two impartial guys acting as seconds to make sure there was no cheating. I got him fair and square. It would’ve been nice to walk away from it with no charges, sure. But when I found a bunch of cheesy love letters on Lola’s laptop dating back a year, that’s when I ran. Mostly away from her. Suddenly I wasn’t so willing to go to jail for decades over what was essentially a cuckold situation. When I thought I was defending her honor? Sure. When I was just being a chump? Not so much.”

“I can understand that. But why pick such a profession? Isn’t that kind of like ‘out of the fire, into the frying pan’?”

“Yes and no. My asshole dad who’d pressed me to be a lawyer had started asking me to work for the Avilars. I kept resisting, but he kept threatening me with vague scenarios, what might occur to me if I didn’t help them launder money. So when I ran, I decided to work for his rivals, the Joneses. Rebelling against your father, don’t you know. I went down to Nogales, got the lay of the land, educated myself about their doings. I ran a few Avilars off the road and…did away with them in the desert. Then I emailed Jones the coordinates of where to find their truck of tomato cans packed in with pounds of coke.”

“Sounds like your interview went well.”

“Yes.” I lifted some strands of hair from her eyes. “But you know what, Pippa? I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m getting out of the narco biz. It’s true, Jones ordered me to hit you. But once I heard your story, there was no way I could bring myself to. Just no way. I wanted to hang around you, to get to know more of your story, because people can’t dislike anyone whose story they know.”

“Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and goodwill, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness.” She was reading my back. “That’s you, all right, Fox. What will you do if you stop being a
sicario
?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. The director at the raptor rescue said his assistant was moving to Peru or some such shit. Was thinking of applying.” The idea of “applying” for a new job was so foreign to me. I hadn’t applied for anything since I’d worked at a Harley dealership in law school.

Pippa uttered the question that was really at the bottom of it all. “And
how
will you, uh, quit the Joneses?” Her fingers lay dormant on my shoulder. She’d scooted close so her incredibly soft tits pressed against my back.

I clasped my hands between my knees. “I don’t know yet. I’m still figuring that one out.” I sighed deeply. “Would you like to take a nap?”

PIPPA

I
was on top of a ladder when Tracy started asking me about sex.

I was painting the ceiling of the lobby of Smoky Mountain High. Tracy and Maddie were painting the walls, at least above the fake wood paneling we’d decided to keep. Since the motel had been built in 1953 we decided to maintain that midcentury retro feel, even though Fox was oddly against it. “I can’t stand that tacky atomic vibe,” he’d said when I had showed off the inn. Why would someone be so strongly against an architectural style? I figured maybe he’d grown up in a midcentury house in New Mexico.

“So have you balled Fox yet?” Tracy asked casually.

“Balled?” said Maddie. “Who says ‘balled’ anymore? Sounds like an old Marvin Gaye song.”

“Well I didn’t want to say ‘fucked’,” said Tracy hotly.

“Why not?” said Maddie. “Call a spade a spade.”

Tracy sighed. “Okay. So have you fucked Fox Isherwood yet?”

It was my turn to sigh. Plus, paint fumes were making me lightheaded. “No, I haven’t. I think we’re savoring everything. Besides, the atmosphere of Lytton’s guest bedroom isn’t too conducive to romance.”

Maddie said, “Wait until you have one of these rooms finished. That’ll be a cause for celebration.”

That was a good idea. Lytton had given us separate rooms in his expansive home, and I sort of liked keeping the mystery for now. I was in love with Fox Isherwood—as I’d decided to call him in my mind, and forget that Travis McShane guy—but of course I hadn’t told him yet. There was plenty of time to get to that if we were going to last as a couple. And more and more, it was looking like we would.

Fox plugging that enforcer who’d been after us sent Ortelio Jones—and me—a clear sign of his intentions. I was just waiting for the blowback from that. Wouldn’t Jones just send another, and another? The next one might not be so patient, and would bury me from a distance so I never knew what hit me.

“I like that idea,” I said as I got the last unpainted spot on the ceiling. The ceiling was a warm white and the walls a kind of peachy pink. Every color would be uplifting, except for the indica rooms. Those would be painted in cool, soothing shades of blues and greens in keeping with the relaxing effects of that strain. Some of our men were working on drywall in the rooms, as much of it needed replacing, so we really didn’t have a single room finished yet.

Lots of the Leaves of Grass Mexican workers were helping us. Right now, two of them were tiling the lobby entryway. They also worked on linoleum in the rooms. Some repaired the roof, some ripped out dead vegetation, and some worked on outdoor pathways. The motel had been built to lodge people visiting Mormon Lake, before global warming had turned it into Mormon Pond. Aboveground wooden sidewalks led down to docks at the old lake, now pointless sitting areas. We’d decided to put picnic tables out there with umbrellas so people enjoying a hit of flower could have a private spot to sit away from the road. Each dock would correspond to a room number. Lytton had obviously put up most of the money for the motel, but Fox had made noises about buying him out.

I knew Fox was there to stay. He’d made some irrevocable decisions since arriving in P and E, and I didn’t know what he was saying to Jones about not having iced me yet. It wasn’t a subject we discussed.

We also hadn’t discussed Travis McShane since the Phoenix airport hotel. It was bad enough he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect a woman who was cuckolding him. But to go to jail for that? I agreed with Fox—he needed to preserve his own ass at that point. And yes, Lola
had
moved into Kightlinger’s house after leaving Fox, adding insult to injury.

Maddie said, “Well, make sure you do it before you have the grand opening. Slushy likes to cut ribbons, so he might walk in on you.”

Tracy said, “Remember when he was cutting the ribbon at that new aquarium store downtown with that giant pair of scissors?” Slushy had his very own giant ribbon-cutting scissors, he loved doing it so much. “He cut the city manager’s tie.”

I was giggling as I descended the ladder. June stuck her head in the front door, saying, “Guys. This is my bestie Emma Flantz. And this is her fiancé, Paul Goodhue. He’s the P and E building inspector.”

“Oh!” I wiped my hand of nonexistent paint on my apron and held it out for the other two to shake. It was pretty handy that June’s BFF’s fiancé was the building inspector. Not that I expected any breaks from him. I didn’t want to cut corners anyway. But it was nice to be on a first name basis.

June said, “Where’s Fox? I wanted our newest member to meet Paul.”

“Oh, he’s not a Bare Boner,” I said.

“Yet,” said Tracy, still painting her wall.

I frowned and smiled at the same time. “What do you…?” I looked to Maddie for assistance. As the Prez’ old lady, she’d know the most.

And she smiled mysteriously. “I’m not saying anything.”

“Yet,” repeated Tracy.

Shit!
Did everyone know something I didn’t? I decided to take it directly to the source. Ford was working on drywall a few rooms down. Fox himself had gone out to the opposite side of town where the raptor rescue was to talk to the director. It was a long shot—he couldn’t provide any references from the falconer who had taught him his skills down in Nogales. He could only impress the guy with his knowledge of birds. He couldn’t even let the director know he was a lawyer. That would involve dredging up Travis McShane.

I went into the little office kitchen where some workers had brought produce and things they’d cooked. There was a bunch of salsa, ceviche in the fridge, delicious
flautas
, and a cheese quesadilla divided like a pizza. Strangely, there was a cake baked in the shape of two boobs. That must’ve come from a sweetbutt. I cut Ford a piece of green melon, grabbed a plastic spoon, and went outside to walk a few rooms down.

Even with the lake so tiny, the views were expansive. Elk often wandered across the dry lake bed. From some of the docks, you could see the red rocks of Pure and Easy that Fox had allegedly come here to see. This time of year, fields of buttery calliopsis blanketed where the lake used to be, all ringed with stands of ponderosa pine.

Ford was in Room 5 with Kneecap and Knoxie. They were taping and mudding the new drywall. It sounded like whoever was next door was drilling in the panels.

“I brought you guys some melon,” I said lamely, obviously holding only one spoon.

“Oh, good,” said Kneecap, eager for a chance to rest. He yanked his face mask down around his chin to take the whole giant slice of melon from me.

I went to stand beneath Ford’s ladder. “Ford. There was some office chatter about Fox joining the Bare Bones?”

Kneecap guffawed. “You can’t just
join
. You have to Prospect first.”

“He’s right,” said Ford, ignoring my direct question. “Anyone who gets invited to join has to Prospect for awhile first. Shitty work no one else wants to do. Escorting old ladies places.”

“Cleaning the bathroom at The Bum Steer,” said Kneecap with his mouth full. “Unclogging toilets.”

“It’s not that bad, dumbass,” said Knoxie from his ladder’s perch. I had the feeling Knoxie had it out for Kneecap, for some reason. He turned to me. “You have to bartend at the Steer along with Sock Monkey, that sort of thing. Look after everyone’s scoots when they’re having a sit-down with someone.”